


Contractual Obligations

by LydiaBSlade



Series: Destination Unknown [14]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Afghanistan, Alternate Universe - Military, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jewish Identity, M/M, Military Kink, Referenced Noncon Fantasy, Referenced War Violence, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23047501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaBSlade/pseuds/LydiaBSlade
Summary: Captain Hux comes home.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Destination Unknown [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1198000
Comments: 42
Kudos: 84





	Contractual Obligations

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the endnotes for detailed content warnings.

“Dismissed!”

The formation of soldiers standing at attention in the lobby of the III Corps headquarters building dissolves suddenly into a wave that surges forward as the homecoming ceremony ends. The crowd of waiting family members, holding babies and signs and bunches of flowers, presses forward to meet them. A din of happy voices fills the room. 

Hux, standing towards the back of the formation, realizes queasily that he is, in fact, the only person in the unit who has no one waiting to welcome him home. He had known, of course, that people’s families would be there - most of his colleagues seem to have ignored the directive that, for security reasons, they should avoid revealing the exact time or date of their return flight until they’re actually on the ground. Hux had been fastidious about obeying this instruction, with the result that Ben will not be flying down until the following day. But it had not occurred to him that he would be literally the only returning soldier whom no one had come to meet. All around him, people are kissing and embracing. He looks around uncomfortably.

General Tarkin wades through the crowd towards him, arm-in-arm with a stern-looking woman whose stiff gray hairdo reminds Hux of a battleship. “Captain Hux!” he says warmly. “I’d like you to meet my wife. This is the talented young speechwriter I told you about,” he says to her. He looks around. “Was your family able to make the trip?”

“No, sir,” Hux says, wincing slightly. “My father’s work keeps him very busy.”

General Tarkin puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Of course,” he says. “But don’t worry. All of us here are your family.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hux says, sincerely. “I appreciate that.”

***

As the months in Afghanistan had worn drearily on, Hux began to feel a kind of constant, directionless anger needling at him, prickling under his skin. It started when the building where he worked was attacked, and grew worse a month later when he heard that Tim, the general’s aide who had been shot in the head, was doing “as well as possible.” This meant, he learned, that Tim had regained consciousness and that his doctors hoped he would eventually be able to speak and feed himself again. 

The broken door that had allowed the attackers into the building haunted Hux. He had nightmares about it - night after night, he saw it swinging open and woke up sweating, certain that some kind of creeping horror was moving stealthily towards him. To make matters worse, Colonel Peavey forced Hux to switch desks with him, so that the colonel could face the office door and keep an eye on it at all times. “Only one of us has been in real combat, you know,” he reminded Hux, testily. 

“I was on the pistol team at West Point and I’ve qualified expert on every weapon I’ve ever fired,” Hux objected. “I’m quite capable of covering the door. Sir.”

“In other words, you’ve never fired at anything that was shooting back at you,” the colonel responded. “I have.”

Hux bit his tongue and resisted the urge to point out that Colonel Peavey had been a brigade commander during his “combat” tour, and that most likely he had gone everywhere with a personal security detail who had done the actual shooting for him. Sitting at his new desk, with his back to the door, made his skin crawl; he was constantly looking over his shoulder. 

There were no further casualties at Hux’s base, but his job required him to track and report on American casualties everywhere else in the country, and the mounting numbers of dead and injured only added to his anger. “It’s just such a waste,” he said to Ben, one evening. “The whole situation here is completely unsustainable. The grand plan is to build an Afghan army and police force that can maintain peace once we leave, but we’re trying to create something on the model of the American army. Which the economy here will never be able to support. So as soon as we get tired of funding it, everything will fall apart. It’ll be just like when the Russians pulled out. It all just goes on and on.”

Ben did not seem especially disturbed by this failure of American policy. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re relatively safe where you are.” 

“I feel like I’m watching a car crash in slow motion,” Hux complained. “I know this is all going to be for nothing, and everyone who dies here is being murdered pointlessly. But I can’t do anything to stop it. I think General Tarkin might listen to me, but if I try to put anything even slightly negative in the reports I draft, Colonel Peavey cuts it out and tells me I’m being defeatist.”

“My mother says the same thing happened during Vietnam,” Ben said. “Fake positive reports all the way up the chain. You can’t do anything about it - just don’t get all crazy and volunteer to be one of the people who gets murdered pointlessly.”

“I won’t,” Hux said, although every casualty report that came across his desk made him feel worse about his comfortable air-conditioned office and the dreamy unreality of the NATO base, with its hot showers and plentiful food and souvenir shops run by Afghans who had to wait in line for hours every day to get cleared by security.

The increasing numbers of “green-on-blue attacks” - coalition troops killed by the Afghan soldiers they were supposed to be training - added to his feelings of futility and ennui. They also made him especially anxious about the meetings he attended with General Tarkin and various Afghan military units. On those occasions his own anxiety made him feel even more guilty and conflicted, because the Afghan soldiers were actually much more polite and gracious to him than his fellow Americans had ever been. The language barrier made it difficult to get to know any of them well, but they did their best to make him feel welcome - inquiring politely about his health, complimenting his crisp uniform, and offering him food (nuts and crumbly rosewater-flavored cookies at brief meetings, heaping plates of meat and rice during longer visits, and endless cups of tea always).

One slender young officer, who introduced himself as Saifullah, asked for Hux’s email address. For months afterwards, Saifullah made a point of sending “greetings and well-wishes” to Hux on every Christian holiday, including relatively obscure dates, like the Feast of Pentecost, that Hux had never actually celebrated. Hux always meant to return the courtesy on Muslim holidays, but usually forgot.

Some of the Afghan soldiers were strikingly handsome as well, and Hux envied their unselfconscious physical affection with each other - the way no one, except the Americans, looked twice at male soldiers walking with their arms around each other or even holding hands. In an attempt to be friendly, Hux sometimes tried to use the few Dari phrases he had learned from an online tutorial service, but he stopped after the command interpreter told him that his pronunciation of “How are you?” sounded as if he were saying “You are a camel.”

The closest that Hux came to actual combat was the day he came back from R&R. He was sitting in a conference room, taking notes on a video conference between General Tarkin and several other senior commanders, when an explosion suddenly shook the building. Dust fell from the ceiling, blanketing the room. Alarms began to sound. Improbably, the video teleconference continued uninterrupted.

The other officers in the room jumped up, pulling on their body armor and running outside. Hux stood up as well, then realized that he had no weapon - he had been required to check it in to the arms room before R&R and had not yet had time to retrieve it. “Sir, what do you want me to do?” he asked Colonel Peavey.

“Stay here and keep taking notes,” the colonel responded, on his way out the door. Half-dazed, Hux sat back down and did his best to carry on with his note-taking, straining to hear what the generals were saying over the deafening alarms.

Some time later - it felt like a long time to Hux, although it was probably only a few minutes - General Tarkin returned, clutching a large, jagged piece of metal. “The perimeter is secure,” he announced. “A truck exploded at the gate, but the gate wasn’t damaged. This just landed outside.” He waved the piece of metal at the camera.

Later that day, there was an announcement that no one should touch any of the pieces of shrapnel that had landed around the base, since they might be contaminated or still explosive. Hux’s roommate Batman, who had also seen the general with his souvenir, laughed. “Guess someone better tell the old man,” he said.

“I suppose that was my big combat experience,” Hux said wryly to Ben later. “Taking notes under fire.”

“Good,” Ben said. “Keep it that way.”

R&R, at least, had been nearly perfect. Ben seemed genuinely touched that Hux had gone to the trouble of finding a haunted hotel for them to stay in in Paris - it was a lovely place, anyway, if a bit cramped and fussy, with ivy spilling down its whitewashed brick facade and a convenient location on the Left Bank. The promised weeping apparition in white never materialized, but Ben seemed pleased with the place regardless. 

He was significantly less enthusiastic, however, when Hux suggested hopefully that World War I battlefields would also be an excellent place to look for ghosts. 

“The Somme was probably the deadliest battle in human history,” Hux pointed out. “And at the Verdun battlefield there’s a mass grave that holds the bones of more than a hundred thousand soldiers. If anywhere has ghosts, you’d think it would be there.” 

Ben grimaced. “Yeah, I guess, but those are the wrong kind of ghosts.”

Hux raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know there was a ‘wrong kind of ghost.’”

“Those are depressing ghosts,” Ben said. “I want to see, like, a bloody masked specter that screams at midnight, not a bunch of teenage boys who got slaughtered for no reason.”

Ben vetoed the guidebook’s suggestion that they rent a car and spend several days exploring points of interest along the Western Front “in order to really drink it in,” but he agreed to a Scheduled Day Tour of Arras that would allow them to see multiple battlefields at a high rate of speed. 

“Only if I get to grope you the whole time,” he said.

“Fine,” Hux responded, shrugging.

Unfortunately for Ben, the tour group consisted of several elderly straight couples, guided by an aggressively mustachioed British army veteran, all of whom seemed thoroughly discomfited by Ben’s glitter eyeliner (it was silver that day) and dangling earrings. Reluctantly, Ben confined himself to draping himself over Hux from behind, occasionally whispering inappropriate suggestions in his ear, and loudly declaring, “Thank fuck that’s over,” as soon as their minibus pulled into the Arras train station in the evening. 

To reward him for his patience, Hux spent the next afternoon trudging gloomily through the Musée Dupuytren, a former convent that now housed a strange and dusty collection of wax anatomical models and preserved specimens in jars. “Really?” Hux said, as Ben carefully photographed a two-headed cow fetus from a variety of allegedly artistic angles. “This is what you came to Paris to do?”

“Shhh,” Ben said, pulling a small portable tripod out of his jacket and setting it up on the floor. 

“I suppose I have known you for long enough,” Hux remarked, “that I shouldn’t be surprised that our romantic trip to Paris in the spring has turned out to involve a deformed cow fetus in a jar.”

“I love you, too,” Ben responded, cheerfully. Hux flushed and looked at his feet, still unused to this sort of casual declaration. 

The obligatory (for Hux, at least) visit to the Louvre proved to be equally contentious. Hux picked up a map at admissions, rapidly determined the most direct route to the Mona Lisa, and began walking briskly in its direction; he had no particular interest in it, really, but it seemed like the sort of thing one was supposed to do in Paris. Halfway down the magnificent hallway Ben began to protest that they were missing everything interesting. 

“I’m just trying to make sure we see the most important things first,” Hux said. 

“Who says the Mona Lisa is the most important thing?” Ben demanded. “I want to see mummies. And scary Catholic art. And ancient Greek vases with dudes making out, if they have any of those.”

“Oh fine,” Hux said, exasperated, “you take the map, then. They haven’t exactly got a gallery listing for ‘creepy Catholic art’ or ‘pornographic Greek pottery.’”

Hours later, after what felt to Hux like a death march through endless rooms full of painted icons and shards of Grecian urns, he abandoned Ben to sit on the steps outside with a field manual on counterinsurgency operations that he had been meaning to review. It was a distractingly lovely spring day, with pale clouds drifting through a brilliant sky, which went some way towards soothing Hux’s ruffled spirits. When Ben came out and sat down behind him, pulling Hux against his chest and kissing the back of his neck, Hux forgot entirely about both the Louvre and the counterinsurgency field manual. They never did make it to see the Mona Lisa. 

Surprisingly, Napoleon’s tomb turned out to be one site that they both enjoyed - Hux for historical and sentimental reasons (West Point’s library had had an entire section devoted to Napoleon and his wars) and Ben for the aesthetic. 

“Wow,” Ben said, looking at the soaring gilded ceilings and ornate columns, “either they were really proud of this guy, or they were just really, really happy he was dead.”

“Probably a bit of both,” said Hux.

Père Lachaise cemetery proved to be a mutually-acceptable destination for similar reasons, although Hux drew the line at putting on lipstick and kissing Oscar Wilde’s tomb.

“It’s tradition,” Ben pointed out, flourishing his tube of black lipstick at the hundreds of colorful lip prints on the stone surface. “Look how many other people have done it.”

“Exactly,” Hux said, making a face, “it’s very unhygienic.”

Back at the hotel, Ben kept his word about acting out more of Hux’s fantasies: for months afterwards, Hux’s toes would curl in his boots whenever he remembered Ben holding both of Hux’s wrists behind his back in one big hand while he fingered Hux roughly with the other, growling, “I’m going to fuck you _so_ hard.... and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

But the pleasures of this interlude only made Hux’s daily routine in Kabul seem emptier and more irritating when his two weeks of R&R were over. Leaving Ben behind at the beginning of the deployment had been bad enough, but at least the idea of going to Afghanistan had still been new and interesting then. Saying goodbye to him at yet another airport left Hux feeling bruised and exhausted. His body ached as if he had the flu. 

***

Now, back on the ground in Texas, the immediate focus of Hux’s frustration is the very young sergeant who is in charge of the lot where Hux’s car has been in storage for the past year.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the NCO is saying, “but I’m not allowed to release your car to you for 72 hours after you redeploy.”

“What do you mean, you’re not allowed?” Hux asks incredulously. “It’s my car. How am I supposed to get around in Killeen for three days without a car?”

“It’s the garrison commander’s orders, sir,” the NCO says apologetically. “We had so many soldiers come back and immediately get into a car accident, so the commander decided that they should take three days to readjust first.”

“How am I supposed to readjust without a car?” Hux asks, exasperated. “I need to go find an apartment. I need to, you know, go get food. It’s not as if I can just hop on the subway to get to downtown Fort Hood.”

The NCO looks at his feet unhappily. “I understand, sir. I think they, uh, assumed that your wife or someone could drive you around.”

“I must have been out sick the day they issued us each a wife,” Hux snaps. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I know this policy wasn’t your idea.”

“No sir,” the NCO says meekly. 

***

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that my first emotion when I got back was anger at the Army bureaucracy,” Hux says to Ben over the phone, later, after taking a cab to the Marriott. The Army lodge on post would have been cheaper, but Hux feels as if he has had quite enough Army for one day. 

“Good,” Ben says. “Hold onto that anger. That’s a good emotion.”

Hux sighs. “And since I don’t have a car, my first meal back in America is a mediocre room-service hamburger.” He pokes at the limp bun with one finger.

“Poor Hux,” Ben says sympathetically. “Well, don’t worry, I’ll rent a car at the airport tomorrow when I fly in, and then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Thanks.”

“Although before we go anywhere I’m going to fuck you through the wall.” 

“I’m counting on it,” Hux says, somewhat cheered.

***

The next day, as they lie in bed together, Hux rests his head on Ben’s chest. He’s feeling pleasantly fucked-out: as soon as he opened the door to let him in, Ben had tackled him and knocked him onto the mattress, like an over-enthusiastic puppy. Hux had fended him off initially in order to let Millicent out of her cat carrier, but when Millicent streaked past him with a yowl to hide under the dresser, he turned his full attention to Ben. 

Being able to lie next to Ben and hold him, with nothing else to do and no deadlines to meet, makes Hux feel as if he’s finally able to let out a breath that he’s been holding in since he last saw Ben six months before. He closes his eyes. The side of his neck stings slightly where Ben had bitten down as he thrust ecstatically into Hux. Both of them are sticky with sweat. Ben’s hand cups the back of Hux’s head protectively. 

“So,” Ben says suddenly, “I was just wondering. Do you think you’re still planning to stay in the Army after your five years are up?”

Hux’s eyes snap open and his body tenses. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’d like to see how this next assignment in DC works out.” He takes a deep breath. “Are you going to stick around if I stay in?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ben says. “I was just curious. You seem really pissed off at them.”

“I think most people in the Army are pissed off at the Army most of the time,” Hux says. “I don’t really want to get out. I just get frustrated by the stupidity and inefficiency.”

“If you want brutal efficiency,” Ben suggests, “I’m sure there are tech companies that would be interested in hiring you.”

Hux makes a face. “Ugh.”

“And tech companies won’t care if you fuck guys, as long as you make them money.”

“I still don’t really have any interest in working for them.” Hux glances up at Ben. “Maybe I’ll convert to Judaism and join the IDF,” he says, only half-joking. “If the Israelis had been attacked on 9/11, they probably would’ve just killed the people responsible and moved on. They wouldn’t still be in Afghanistan a decade later pestering farmers to grow marigolds instead of opium, or whatever harebrained scheme is going to win the war this week. And they let gay soldiers serve openly.”

Ben grimaces. “Please do literally almost anything other than that,” he says. “I mean, if you just want to fuck Jewish men, you can do that right here. You don’t have to go all the way to Israel for that.”

“So you wouldn’t want to live in Israel?”

“No,” Ben says. “I went there for Birthright the summer after we broke up, and, I mean, it was fun. Great beaches, hot guys, whatever. But being surrounded by nothing but other Jews makes me antsy. It’s like a whole country made up of nothing but my cousins. And my actual real family drives me crazy enough without that.”

Hux laughs. “What about converting? Would you ever want me to do that?”

“Not really - I mean, if it was something you really wanted to do, I’m not going to stop you,” Ben says. “Although I’m pretty attached to your dick the way it is. I’d be kind of upset if you got circumcised.”

That aspect of the situation had not occurred to Hux. “Do they really make adult converts do that? Even for Reform Jews?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of crazy,” Ben says. “Before we got back together, I actually went out on a few dates with this guy who’d converted to Judaism. One of my mom’s friends gave him my number because he’d been going on about how he wanted to find a Jewish boyfriend.”

“If he didn’t already have one, why’d he convert?”

“He was raised evangelical Christian,” Ben says. “His family disowned him when he came out. I think maybe all the weird rules and restrictions that come with being an observant Jew felt kind of comforting and familiar to him. Like, kind of what he was used to, minus the homophobia. Plus he was cute and well-dressed and his mom had kicked him out, so all the synagogue ladies wanted to adopt him.”

“If he was so cute,” Hux says, starting to feel annoyed by this story, “why didn’t you stay with him?”

Ben laughs. “Jealous?”

“Hmmph.”

“Actually he kind of drove me crazy with the Jewish stuff,” Ben says. “I guess I should’ve figured that anyone who’s willing to get unnecessary dick surgery for religious reasons is going to be pretty serious about it, but he was way too much for me. One time I posted a picture of myself on Facebook eating oysters and he got really sad and told me that he was ‘very disappointed’ in me.” Hux laughs. “And he kept bugging me to go to synagogue with him. Like, not even the short services on Friday, the really long ones on Saturday morning.”

“So what you’re saying is that you really want me to convert and do that to you.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Ben says. He rolls over, wrapping his arms around Hux, half-squashing him under his body. “I like you and your foreskin. And being able to eat bacon and shrimp with you. This guy - his name was Zach - he only ever wanted to eat at this one kosher restaurant near his house. It was super overpriced and always full of Hasids who would yell at me for wearing ripped skinny jeans.”

“I just yell at you myself when you wear ridiculous clothes,” Hux says. “I don’t need to get Hasids to do it for me.”

“That’s much better,” Ben says, pressing his nose happily into the crook of Hux’s neck. 

“One thing, though,” Hux says, after a while. “You didn’t really answer my question.”

“What question?”

“If I stay in the Army, are you going to leave?” _Again_, Hux thinks. 

“I mean, I do really want you to get out,” Ben says, still hugging him tightly. “Even aside from all the closeted bullshit - and you’ve been a lot less crazy with that stuff since you left West Point - I’d really like to not go through another year like this. You know, only seeing you on Skype and freaking out every time I see something about Afghanistan on the news.”

“I see,” Hux says, feeling slightly queasy.

“But either way you’re stuck with me,” Ben says. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Hux doesn’t say anything, but he wraps his arms around Ben, pressing his face into Ben’s soft hair. 

“Something else I wanted to ask you,” Ben says, “sort of related to that - are you pissed that I stopped you from volunteering for some crazy combat mission or whatever?”

Hux sighs. “No,” he says. “My fifteen-year-old self would be disgusted with me, I’m sure. For - well, for all sorts of reasons, actually. But from what I’ve seen of our mission in Afghanistan, I can’t really bring myself to be upset that I didn’t have the opportunity to die or lose any limbs for the cause.” 

“It’s like the thing with Achilles.”

Hux laughs. “Not another of your literary metaphors,” he says. “My military experience has to be about as far from Achilles’ as possible. Although I suppose Achilles did spend a fair amount of time hiding out in his tent.... but I don’t think he was putting together PowerPoint presentations while he was in there.”

“That’s exactly what I mean, that your experience was different,” Ben responds. “Remember, how he had to choose between a long life in obscurity or a short but glorious life?”

“Oh right.” Hux sighs. “A long life in obscurity, that sounds like me.”

“But that’s good,” Ben insists. “Achilles made the wrong choice. I guess, you know, when I was obsessed with him as a kid, I didn’t think so. I wanted the short but glorious life too. Like, not in the military - you know, more like the rock-star ‘live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse’ kind of thing. But that’s because I was dumb. Achilles should’ve stayed home with Patroclus. They could’ve been happy. Who cares if people write songs about you after you die? You’re not going to know about it either way.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think there’s any danger that anyone will write songs about my exploits in Afghanistan.”

“But you got to come home. You were lucky.”

“I was,” Hux agrees. He thinks, briefly, of Lieutenant Aaron Goldblum, and of Lieutenant Goldblum’s pretty dark-haired fiancée weeping in the West Point Jewish chapel. When he had gone to Goldblum’s funeral as a nineteen-year-old cadet, a twenty-four-year-old first lieutenant had seemed very old and grown-up to him. This year, as he turned twenty-five with little fanfare at his desk in Kabul, it had occurred to him that he was now older than Aaron Goldblum had ever gotten to be.

They lie quietly together for a moment. Hux’s eyes are closed; he breathes in the scent of Ben’s body. _I got to come home._

“Speaking of the military,” Ben says, after a while, “I brought your old uniform and boots with me. If, uh, you felt like putting them on at some point.”

“That reminds me,” Hux says, “I’ve been meaning to teach you how to properly shine boots. The last time I saw those boots they were very smudged-looking.”

“Awesome,” Ben says eagerly, standing up, “I’ll go get them right now.”

“Not in a sexual way,” Hux says, severely. “I mean actually shining them, with polish. Not, like, by licking them or something.”

“But that sounds so boring,” Ben says, crestfallen. 

Hux raises on eyebrow. “Boots are your fetish, not mine. You should at least learn how to maintain them properly.”

“Oh all right,” Ben says, “but we can’t do it right now. I don’t have any polish or anything.”

“We’re at the Marriott in Killeen, Texas,” Hux says. “Literally no one comes here except the military and military families. There’s a boot-shining kit under the sink.”

“Okay,” Ben says, standing up and going into the bathroom to look for it. “But at least put the boots and uniform on if you’re going to make me shine them.”

“It’s easier to shine boots if no one is wearing them.”

“But it’s more fun if you are.”

“I suppose I can indulge you just this once,” Hux says, “since I haven’t seen you since April.”

“Fine,” Ben laughs, coming back with the kit in his hands, “I’ll try not to get used to it.” 

Once Hux is fully uniformed and booted, he sits down on the bed; Ben kneels in front of him, still naked. “So what do you want me to do?” he asks, eyes bright. He looks very much as if he has not fully processed that this isn’t meant to be a sexual activity. Hux finds that he does not entirely mind. 

“Open the tin of polish,” Hux directs, “and fill the lid with water. Then get that cloth.”

Ben groans. “You’re really serious about teaching me to do this properly, aren’t you.”

“I don’t know why you would ever have assumed that I’m not.”

“Fair point,” Ben says, getting up to get the water and then coming back. He pulls Hux’s boot into his lap. “Now what?”

“Wet the cloth, dab a tiny bit of polish on it, and rub it on the boot. Make little circles.” He leans down to see what Ben is doing. “Not like that - just use one finger.”

“Just so you know,” Ben says, “this is still hot. Even though apparently it’s not supposed to be.”

“Is that so,” Hux says, leaning back on his elbows and nudging Ben’s half-hard cock with the toe of his boot. Ben gasps. “Keep going. Don’t get distracted. You’ve still got the other boot to do.”

“You’re trying to - _fuck_ \- kill me,” Ben groans, dropping the polishing cloth altogether as Hux flexes his foot between Ben’s thighs, rolling the sole of his boot over Ben’s stiffening cock. 

“Pick that up,” Hux says sternly. “Don’t make me punish you.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ben says, looking up at Hux through half-closed eyes. His hips jerk against Hux’s boot. “What are you going to do to me, exactly?”

“Maybe I’ll put you over my lap and spank you.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Yeah? You want that?” Hux says. Ben makes a desperate little sound in his throat in response, still pressing his erection against Hux’s boot. Hux slides his hand into Ben’s hair, tugging him forward. “Get up here, then. Lie down.”

“Oh fuck,” Ben breathes, as he lies down across Hux’s lap, his hard cock digging into Hux’s thigh through the stiff cotton of his uniform. Hux brings his open hand down across Ben’s ass with a _crack_. Ben yelps, squirming against him.

“Is that what you need?” Hux asks. “Since you can’t even complete a simple chore without getting distracted by your cock?”

“Yes - please - I need it - “

Hux smacks his ass again. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You need someone to discipline you, keep you in line.”

“I do, I need you, I need - more,” Ben agrees, breathlessly, letting out a series of little high-pitched sounds as Hux hits him again and again. Hux’s hand is starting to sting, but he’s enjoying the way Ben’s pale skin is turning pink under his palm, the way Ben’s body jerks against Hux’s erection with every blow. “Hux, please - let me suck you?”

“You think you’ve earned that?” Hux asks, trying to sound calm and disinterested, even though he desperately wants to thrust into Ben’s soft mouth immediately. “Your undisciplined cock is leaking all over my trousers. And you didn’t even finish polishing _one_ boot.”

Ben sits up abruptly, nearly headbutting Hux in the process, and scrambles off his lap to kneel in front of him again. “I can fix that,” he says, looking up at Hux, big-eyed. His face is flushed pink and his lips look especially swollen and red; his cock stands up stiffly between his thighs. He leans forward to lick at the wet spot that it had left on Hux’s thigh. Hux bites back a groan, feeling the warmth of Ben’s tongue for a moment through the cloth. Then Ben picks up the polishing cloth, dips it in the water, and begins rubbing frantically at the toe of Hux’s boot. 

“All right, that’s good enough,” Hux says, even though the results of Ben’s efforts show more evidence of enthusiasm than skill. He unbuttons his fly and leans back against a pillows. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve missed this so much,” Ben says, sliding his warm hand into Hux’s fly and drawing his cock out. He sucks the head briefly into his mouth - Hux hisses at the hot suction - and lets his eyes drift close, then draws back to lick up and down the shaft and nuzzle at Hux’s balls. Hux lets out a strangled sound, clutching at the bedsheets. “Fuck, you taste good. Hux - can you - “

“Step on you?” Hux shifts his weight so that he can draw the smooth leather toe of his boot up and down the shaft of Ben’s cock. 

“Oh fuck, that’s good,” Ben whimpers. He sucks Hux’s cock fully into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down, groaning around it as Hux presses his cock back against his abs with the heel of his boot. His hips jerk sharply. “Oh - fuck!”

“Did you really come just from that?” Hux asks, somewhat amazed, as Ben pants, red-faced, between his legs. 

“Yeah,” Ben says, looking blissful, “I couldn’t help it - I’ve missed that so much - “

“My turn, then,” Hux says, leaning forward to grab Ben’s head, thrusting roughly into his mouth. Ben is pliant in his grip, obediently letting Hux fuck his face, sucking hard. Hux’s back arches and his fists clench in Ben’s hair as the pleasure cuts through him. “Ah - _Ben_!”

“Mmm,” Ben sighs, swallowing, repeatedly, as Hux’s cock spurts into his mouth. Hux flops limply back onto the bed, breathing hard. Ben lies down next to him, curling around him. “That was amazing.”

“I’m not complaining,” Hux says. He lifts one leg to look at his boot, which is now smudged and smeared with whitish streaks of drying come, and laughs. “Although I think my boot-shining lesson may have backfired. These boots are more of a mess than ever.”

“You’ll just have to give me more lessons,” Ben says, nuzzling Hux’s ear. “Like I said, you’re stuck with me.”

***  
_ One year later._

“This is so crazy,” Ben says, sliding Hux’s gin-and-tonic across the bar. “I can’t believe it’s really over.”

“I know,” Hux says. “I never really thought it would happen. I figured they’d come up with more excuses about military readiness and keep drawing it out indefinitely.”

On the bar’s TV, a CNN reporter is reporting on the official end of the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy. The camera cuts to two young female NCOs, who are holding hands as they excitedly describe their wedding plans.

“I heard from Mitaka today,” Hux says after a moment, sipping his drink thoughtfully. “He’s thrilled. He and Thanisson are planning to get married up at the Jewish chapel at West Point.”

“That’s awesome,” Ben says, looking at Hux intently. Hux can’t quite read the expression on his face. “Tell him congratulations for me.”

“I will,” Hux says. “Although of course the Jewish chaplain up there - the one who’s known Mitaka since basic training - he’s refusing to actually marry them. They’re allowed to use the chapel, but they have to bring some other random rabbi up from Long Island to do the ceremony.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Figures. No matter what happens, I guess you can always count on someone to be a dick about it for religious reasons.”

“The good part is that the venue is free, apparently,” Hux says, “although he says he just got a note from the chapel’s administrative assistant telling them not to throw flower petals or rice on the ground because it could be a tripping hazard.”

“Isn’t this the same school that used to give you live grenades to throw?”

“That’s exactly what I said too. Mitaka pointed out that technically there’s no rule against throwing grenades during the ceremony, so at least they’re consistent.”

“Like I said,” Ben says, “figures.”

Hux cocks his head at Ben. “What’s going on with you? You look like you want to say something.”

“Nothing,” Ben says, a bit flatly. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

“But you think now I’m never going to get out of the Army, is that it?”

“No, honestly, I mean it, I’m really happy for you,” Ben says. “I know you’re loving your internship thing, and, like, you’re finally getting to build killer robots or whatever just like you’ve always wanted. And I’m thrilled that you don’t have to lie or be scared anymore.”

Somewhat to Hux’s surprise, General Tarkin hadn’t forgotten his promise to get Hux reassigned to a position where he would be able to use his skills: he’s now a few weeks into an internship at DARPA, working on a weaponized-nanotechnology project. Ben has found a job at a bar in Clarendon, not far from their small apartment.

Annoyingly, Ben’s shifts at the bar begin almost exactly when Hux gets out of work on weekdays, so Hux has developed a habit of spending his evenings at the bar whenever it isn’t too busy. At the moment, it’s a quiet, rainy Tuesday night. There are a few tables full of college students, but otherwise the place is empty. 

Hux touches Ben’s hand. “I appreciate it. I know this isn’t really what you wanted.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ben says, shrugging. “It’s your day. Enjoy it. Want something special to drink? Instead of just your usual?”

“Sure,” Hux says. He looks around. By the rain-streaked window, two blond girls are sharing an enormous frozen margarita. The drink is a lurid green, served in a large pink plastic goblet. “What the hell. What those girls are drinking - that looks fun. I’ll have one of those.”

Ben laughs. “For real?”

“Yes,” Hux says stubbornly. “It’s a special occasion. I don’t need to sit here like - like my father, angrily sucking down gin.” 

“Now I know the world has really changed,” Ben says, grinning. “You got it. Coming right up.”

“Something else I meant to tell you,” Hux says, a few minutes later. His celebratory margarita is much too sweet and the crushed ice is giving him a headache, but he’s determined to finish it regardless. “I was talking to my branch manager yesterday, and I told him that I’m not sure if I’m going to stay in after my contractual obligation ends next year. He said if I stay in, he’ll make sure my next assignment is in Hawaii.”

Ben looks surprised. “Would you even want to go there? You could get sunburned in a dark basement. I can’t picture you in Hawaii.”

“I don’t especially care about Hawaii one way or the other,” Hux says, “but I thought you might like it. You love going to the beach.”

Ben laughs, his face softening. “That’s sweet,” he says, “but you don’t have to give up your dream assignment here just so I can learn how to surf.”

“I’ll have to do something when my internship is over anyway,” Hux says. He sucks on his straw, which is pink and curly. “DARPA might be willing to send me to graduate school to study robotics, but in order to qualify for a fellowship I’ll have to go do a tour as a battalion intelligence officer first.”

“Didn’t you already do that in Korea? And you kind of hated it?”

“Yes, but I was a lieutenant then. I have to do it as a captain or else it doesn’t count.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I guess no matter what changes, the Army bureaucracy will get you one way or the other.”

“Of course,” Hux says. He frowns into the depths of his margarita. Something about the combination of sugar and tequila is making him feel unusually clear-headed, as though he can see through a sort of fog that normally surrounds him. He glances up at Ben, who is looking fondly at him. In the blue light of the bar Ben’s jagged profile and spiky hair are sharply outlined. His silver lip ring - a recent addition - glitters as he moves. “I was thinking - now that the rules have changed, it might make sense for us to, ah.” Hux takes another gulp of his drink. “To get married.”

Ben’s mouth drops open. He starts to say something, then stops. “Hux,” he says, “I made that giant margarita pretty strong. Maybe have a water. Or a Gatorade.”

“I mean it,” Hux insists. “It’s not the alcohol talking.” Now that he’s said it, the way ahead seems even more clear, shining in front of him: the jagged pieces of his life, all falling into place somehow. “Right now we still won’t have access to the same benefits as straight couples, but that might change. And if we get married it will put us in the best position to take advantage of whatever is available to us. I might at least be able to get you a free ticket to Hawaii.”

Ben still looks astonished. He laughs. “Only you would ask me to marry you because it would be the most efficient way to navigate the Army bureaucracy,” he says. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

“That isn’t the only reason,” Hux protests. He sucks the last of his drink noisily through his straw. The overload of sugar is beginning to make him feel queasy. “And - you haven’t said yes or no.”

Ben stares at him for a long moment. Then he leans across the bar and kisses Hux very gently. “What the hell,” he says. “You probably won’t even remember this in the morning, but sure, why not.” He takes Hux’s hand, prying it open and holding it; Hux hadn’t even realized that he had been digging his nails anxiously into his palm. “Hey, everyone!” Ben says loudly, holding up their joined hands. A few of the college students look up at him. “Guess what? We’re getting married! And we’re moving to Hawaii!”

“Yay!” says one of the blond girls by the window, beaming at them. “Congratulations!”

***

“Ugh,” Hux says, when his alarm goes off at five A.M. the next morning. Ben, who has only been home from work for a few hours, rolls over and peers sleepily at him in the dim light from the window. “I feel awful. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink last night.”

“I tried to get you to drink more water,” Ben says. He touches Hux’s shoulder. “Do you, um. Do you remember much about yesterday night?”

Hux grimaces. “I, ah. I’m fairly certain I asked you to marry me.”

“You didn’t exactly ask,” Ben says. “You basically just remarked that getting married would be the most effective way to manage the Army’s benefits processes.”

“I also remember that you said yes.”

“I guess I did.” Ben is quiet for a moment. He looks away. “Don’t worry, though, I know you were drunk. I’m not going to hold you to it.”

“But you were sober when you said yes,” Hux says. “What if I want to hold you to that?”

Ben throws his arm over Hux’s chest, squeezing him. His bare skin is hot in the cold room. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“Of course I mean it,” Hux says indignantly. “I - but what about you? Were you just going along with me because you thought I’d be too drunk to remember what you said?”

“No,” Ben says. He kisses the side of Hux’s face, lingeringly. His lips are very soft. “I - I do want to marry you. I do.”

Hux wraps his arms tightly around Ben, breathing out. “Let’s do it then,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m so glad,” Hux says. His head is still throbbing. “I - also, I’ll take that Gatorade now if you’re still offering.”

“Oh, so you think that getting married means I’m going to wait on you hand and foot now?” Ben says, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who fantasizes about that sort of thing.”

“More like on my hands and knees than hand and foot,” Ben says, “but all right.” He gets up and goes to the kitchen, coming back with a blue bottle in his hand.

Hux gulps it down gratefully. “Speaking of you on your hands and knees,” he says, as his headache fades fractionally, “that sounds like possibly a good plan for the rest of the morning.”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Maybe just this once I can call in sick.”

“Who are you,” Ben says, “and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” Hux corrects. 

Ben laughs, shaking his head. “That’s going to take some getting used to,” he says, still standing by the foot of the bed. “And, Hux. In all seriousness. You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Ready for what?” Hux asks peevishly. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet already.”

“No way,” Ben says. “I just mean - you’ve been mostly totally secretive about this with everyone. And now you’re going to come out just like that? I mean, just because the policy has changed doesn’t mean a lot of people won’t still be dicks about it.”

“I don’t care,” Hux says shortly. He sits up in bed and drains the rest of the Gatorade. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to enforce Army standards.” He points the empty Gatorade bottle at Ben emphatically. “When the rules said that I had to lie about you, I did it. Now that the rules say that they can’t discriminate against me anymore, I intend to make sure that those rules are enforced just as strictly.”

Ben flops down on top of Hux, kissing his neck. “I love you so much,” he says. “What about your dad, though? Are you even going to tell him?”

Hux shrugs. “I’ll probably just send him a wedding invitation,” he says. “It’s more than he deserves, but I’m feeling magnanimous at the moment.” 

“Works for me,” Ben says. “Anyway. About those plans for the rest of the morning - “

“I haven’t forgotten,” Hux says. He tugs at the waistband of Ben’s boxer shorts. “Take those off. And get on your knees.”

“Yes, _sir_,” Ben says, grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Referenced war violence: not graphic, but Hux references a soldier who was shot in the head and thinks about another soldier who died young in Iraq. Hux has nightmares about an attack that was described in the previous chapter. There’s also a description of an explosion that doesn’t injure anyone except the guy who set it off. 
> 
> \- Referenced noncon fantasy: there’s a brief (one sentence) description of Ben pretending to force Hux to have sex, but it’s clear that they’re consensually acting out Hux’s fantasies.
> 
> \- Implied/referenced homophobia: nothing graphic, but DADT is still in effect for most of this chapter and its impact is referenced and briefly discussed.
> 
> \- Jewish identity: Hux makes a semi-joking comment about how he might convert to Judaism and join the IDF, and Ben talks about why he wouldn’t want Hux to do that. 
> 
> \- Sex: it’s what it says on the tin. Uh... Hux tries to teach Ben to polish boots properly and the lesson goes a bit sideways. 
> 
> And: that’s it! I hope this final chapter doesn’t disappoint. I hope to eventually write a couple of additional side stories in this verse, but for the moment at least it’s done. 
> 
> Thank you all so very, very much for reading along, and special thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments! When I started writing this series, I hadn’t done any sort of creative writing in more than a decade, and it’s been really amazing to start again. I don’t think I would’ve kept on with it without the wonderful and supportive Kylux community. Love you guys! Come yell at me on Twitter under the same username if you’re so inclined.


End file.
